Scar
by ACM a.k.a. Annie May
Summary: A series of oneshots based on the rumor that the last word of book seven is scar and using Deathly Hallows. First story features Snape. Second story features James. Third story features Ron.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I have written this fic based on that old rumor that the last word of the last book is scar. I am doing a series of short, one-shot fics that give possible last scenes ending with the word scar. Since the title for the book has also been announced, I have included that detail as well. I am not positing this as a theory about the ending, but rather as a sort of challenge fic with myself, to have fun with these two parameters in different stories. Also, and this is important, this first story is not intended to be a romantic story. I have yet to find ANY pairing with Snape that I like, let alone the GOD AWFUL PAIRING OF SNAPE AND HARRY. Er, I mean, I'm not fond of that pairing. So I don't mean it like that, 'kay? Enjoy the story.

Story One: Guilt

The train station was all too silent as Harry approached the familiar platform. Many things had changed since he had come to this place as the gateway to his personal paradise. Life had become dull and settled like the fog that hung over the city at this time of night. Harry could almost feel that same childish excitement that filled him whenever he arrived at platform nine-and-three-quarters, but it was soon replaced by another, more potent emotion. The tiny hairs on the back of Harry's neck rose as a sinister voice behind him spoke.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry whirled around to gaze into the stern countenance of one Severus Snape. With great difficulty Harry had come to accept that Snape's name had been cleared, since Dumbledore had returned and explained his role in the plot. Even so, he loathed the man for various other reasons, not the least of which was, of course, his role in the deaths of Harry's parents, and Harry found his presence most disquieting. Furthermore, he could not imagine what it was that he wanted. Harry had long since completed his time at Hogwarts and had not seen the professor for years, nor had he desired to do so.

Barely hiding his annoyance, Harry replied, "Yes, _sir_?"

"Harry," Snape began, then paused, the expression on his face softening, ever-so-softly. "I know…that I can never…make amends for what I have done."

Harry narrowed his eyes as if to say, "Yes, you definitely can't. And?"

"Still, these past few years I have been haunted by the thought that I owe you something…some sign of peace…I don't know what to do or how to say it…I was hoping, perhaps, that you would join me for tea."

Harry was shocked, though he did not allow his face to show it. Snape's mannerisms had completely changed…and his ideas! The concept that Snape, his cruel, cold-hearted tormentor, would ask him to tea was absurd, to say the least. Perhaps it was his incredible surprise, or perhaps it was the loneliness of the past few years, that prompted Harry's response. For whatever reason, Harry looked Snape directly in the eyes and replied clearly, "Fine."

No sound passed between them as they walked to the tea shop, nor were any words spoken once they had ordered and received their tea. Harry held his cup too tightly, his knuckles turning white, and did not look into Snape's eyes. Snape's hands shook as he held his cup between them and he stared at Harry, unable to speak. Why had he done this? Why had he asked him here? They had forced him. They had made him help Dumbledore and they had led him to make this foolish request. The Deathly Hallows were not to be denied.

Snape took a deep drink of his tea, wishing it were a potion that could ease the tension of the moment, wishing for some magic to bridge the distance between them. There was no hope for him. This was the true nature of the Deathly Hallows. They were not monsters, not in the physical sense. Rather, the lived in the minds of the wicked and tortured them until death. No spell could rid him of them, for they fed on the pain of regret for deeds that could never be undone. In spite of all the good he had done since, risking his life for the cause, the Deathly Hallows would never leave Severus Snape. The proof of his sins would always be there upon Harry's face, indelibly marked with a scar.


	2. Chapter 2

Authors note: Ok, here's story two. Totally unconnected from Story One, but same rules. Include some version of deathly hallows and make the last word "scar."

Story Two: Judgment 

Harry looked around, confused. Where had he just been? More importantly, where was he now? The last thing he remembered was lifting up a curtain…And now here he was, in a dark room with purple fog swirling all around him. Suddenly he realized that he was not alone. A man appeared from out of the fog and reached out towards him. Backing away reflexively, Harry collided with the wall. The man loomed over him, and it was then that Harry recognized him.

A small, familiar pain gripped his heart as he asked, "Dad?"

"Yes, Harry, it's me."

Harry's eyes widened. James pulled him into a hug. Harry couldn't help but smile, finding that this was in fact his father, not distant and incorporeal but real and warm and fatherly. Completely in awe, he was startled when his father pulled away to stand in front of him and said, "I can't believe they really did it! They really brought you here!"

"Wait, what, Dad? Who did?"

"The Deathly Hallows," James said, as though it were obvious.

Harry's hand flew to his wand. This couldn't be his real father, here, speaking as though the Deathly Hallows were his dearest friends.

"Whoa, Harry, what's wrong?" James asked, confusion marring his features.

"The Deathly Hallows…The Deathly Hallows….they are responsible for the deaths of my parents! My _real_ parents!"

Harry raised his wand and pointed it at James' nose.

"My father…would…never…" Harry trailed off, anger choking his voice and causing his hand to shake.

James reached up and grabbed Harry's wrist and held it steady. The sheer audacity of the action made Harry pause and look at the man before him.

"The Deathly Hallows are the _council_ that determines where you will spend eternity."

Harry's hand dropped to his side. Those voices… It was them he had heard, lurking behind the veil. Suddenly it made sense. He looked down, ashamed, then returned his gaze to his father, who looked calm and oddly serious.

"I have spent these years in this chamber, alone in the dark, awaiting their judgment. They took my memories, weighing my worthiness based on my actions. I guess I passed, because now I am told I can regain them with you. That's why you have been sent here. You only have a small amount of time, but it should be enough, to talk with me, to help me as much as you can, before I go off to the place that's meant for me. They told me I have a wife and that you're my son but that I was never able to get to know you. Well, it's nice to meet you," James said, laughing and extending his hand, which Harry shook.

Harry smiled again. This was a great opportunity, the sort of thing he had dreamed of as long as he could remember. But how was he to help his own father regain his memories? He hardly knew anything about him.

"Now, where should we begin?" James looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "What can you tell me about my wife?"

"Well, to be honest, Dad, I never really got to know _her_ either…" Harry said sheepishly.

James looked crestfallen. Harry stumbled for a response.

"Well, that is…Er, you met her at school…at Hogwarts. She was very smart and you were sort of a trouble maker…and, um, everyone says my eyes are just like hers!" Harry finished, gasping for breath.

James laughed. "Me, a trouble maker? Hard to believe, isn't it?" he said, winking at Harry. "You have your mother's eyes, eh?"

James put a hand on each of Harry's shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. He grinned, then raised an eyebrow. Scrunching up his face, James took his thumb and ran it over Harry's forehead.

"By the way, Harry, how did you get that scar?"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Those last two stories were kind of depressing, so here's something a little more fun.

Story Three: Pain

The great witches and wizards of the world were all familiar with the name Harry Potter, and throughout his time at Hogwarts, all enjoyed speculating on the brilliant and prosperous future that awaited him. Then the Great Harry Potter had surprised them all by taking a menial, entry-level job at the Ministry of Magic. He had done so in order to have some semblance of a "normal" life and so that he could work with Ron. The day-to-day paper shuffling was extremely tedious, however, and he often longed for his days of battling death eaters, just for a little excitement.

The one bright spot in Harry's work life was the department's Quidditch team he and Ron had organized. They named it the "Deathly Hallows," which made Hermione roll her eyes, but which Ginny asserted was "very intimidating."

The day following one particularly good game Ron walked into the office looking utterly defeated. His shirt was half-untucked and his hair was a mess and he looked at the ground as he entered Harry's cubicle. Harry knew that this could only mean one thing: a fight with Hermione.

Harry knew it was best to let Ron speak first in these situations, so he simply said, "Hi, Ron," and did not look up from his paperwork.

Ron took a deep breath and then burst out with, "You wouldn't believe it Harry! It's the same fight all over again!" Ron's voice changed to falsetto. "All you ever talk about is Quidditch! All you ever think about is Quidditch! What about me! Bla bla bla!"

Harry chucked but kept his eyes on his work.

Ron stood up a little straighter.

"Well, I didn't put up with _that_! I said she only reads books and talks about arithmancy! And when I brought up ancient runes, oh man, the fur started to fly! Literally!"

Harry couldn't help but look at Ron quizzically.

"Crookshanks…just…jumped on me, from out of nowhere, hissing and scratching! That little monster…I can't believe I haven't managed to get rid of it all these years!"

"Don't worry, Ron. Maybe Crookshanks will turn out to be a treacherous animagus too," Harry said cheerfully, slapping him on the back.

Ron laughed ruefully and pointed to his right cheek.

"That still won't get rid of this scar."


End file.
